


Inconsequential Revelations

by Rainicornucopia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainicornucopia/pseuds/Rainicornucopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Trevelyan is surprised to find Solas has returned to the Inquisition. Broken and defeated after releasing the corrupted elven gods into Thedas, Solas bares all to the Inquisitor. Expecting to receive punishment for his actions, he is surprised to find the Inquisitor to be understanding - albeit thoroughly confused.</p><p>Angst, fluff and shameless smut (because why not?). Another fill for the Dragonage_Kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inconsequential Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> I suffered maaaajor writer's block when writing this (plus one serious case of 'Ugh laziness') so warnings for potentially OOC Solas.

Solas' renewed presence in Skyhold came as a complete surprise to the Inquisitor.

The noblewoman had not expected the elven apostate to disappear, let alone find herself rudely awoken and dragged from her quarters late one evening. The befuddled, anxious Dalish scout left her without a word after unceremoniously tossing her into Solas' once abandoned lodgings.

Blinking in the dim glow of the candlelight, a bleary but distinctly masculine shadow wavered in the corners of her vision. Sparing a moment to scrub the sleep from her eyes, she looked ahead with renewed clarity.

The elven man had managed to elude Leliana's scouts for months, so with doubtful fists the Inquisitor nearly rubbed her eyes raw attempting to discern some trick of the light from reality.

“Solas...?” she questioned, voice seeped with confusion.

“My friend...” a flicker of apprehension crossed his face, and he amended his greeting. “Inquisitor.” he said with a curt nod.

“You've returned!” overcome with joyous emotion, the young woman did not think before she strode towards him, arms outstretched. “It's so good to-”

In one swift step to the side, he evaded her embrace.

“I am aware my presence is unexpected, but there is much we have to discuss.” with an nod he motioned towards the platter of tea precariously perched upon a small, side table.

Sitting her down, they exchanged few pleasantries before he delivered a quick, carefully worded string of confessions.

“...Pardon? I don't think I quite caught that.” the bewildered young woman mumbled in disbelief.

In but a few minutes she was to believe her trusted compatriot to be some elven deity. A deity once in the possession of a magical orb. An orb he had then willingly gifted to Corypheus. Worse still, the man had apparently freed the vengeful and twisted spirits of the remaining elven pantheon into Thedas. All in one well-intentioned but ultimately foolish attempt to restore the wondrous days of the Elvhenan Empire.

Not a flicker of anger, nor bitterness crossed her mind. How could it when Tom Reinier she had freed of all charges? Offered the man redemption, allowed him back into the ranks of the Inquisition and her Inner Circle, no less. She was, however, more than a bit overwhelmed.

For a moment, the noblewoman felt the urgent need to pinch herself. She must surely be dreaming, or as much as one could when they were fully conscious in the Fade.

Perhaps this was all some strange illusion, conjured by a demon with a rotten sense of humour. It would not be the first time she should face such a creature.

The very idea was completely preposterous, absurd, and simply put, wholly incomprehensible. It was all nearly as exceptionally unbelievable as the elven goddess Mythal inhabiting the body of the infamous Flemeth; or a darkspawn Magister from Tevinter opening colossal, glowing holes in the sky; or one missing elven apostate slinking back into the confines of Skyhold one evening.

Perhaps it wasn't so unbelievable after all, but....well, shit.

“Is this is some kind of joke? It's in very poor taste, Solas.” nervous laughter tickled the edge of her tongue.

“If the Dalish are to be believed then I am a trickster. A being whose very nature it is to twist the truth in order to suit it's own ends, but be that as it may - I would not speak of such a subject in jest.” Solas raised his teacup. Warm tendrils of honey-scented steam soothed and unwound his tense, knotted muscles. The distasteful curl of his lip indicating the liquid had done nothing to lighten his dour mood.

“That in itself was a joke! Or not...that was all a bit confusing, actually.” she slunk down into the comfort of the plush couch, to rest her head upon the armrest. She prayed Josephine should not enter the room and catch her in such an unladylike seating position.

“Really though...the Dread Wolf? It was the Dread Wolf, wasn't it?” rolling the name over her tongue, she searched the depths of her memory for some snippet of information regarding the elven god.

She vaguely remembered the conversation between Morrigan and Abelas in the Temple of Mythal. It could therefore be confirmed that the Dread Wolf was not, in fact, a murderer. Such information was about as useful as a fireguard made of kindling.

Think...think...she told herself.

The majority of her formative years had been spent in the Ostwick Circle under the tutelage of the late First Enchanter Lydia. Hours she had spent, listening to old men prattle on about magical theory and magical beings and magical spells. The Dread Wolf is – or was, by all accounts, an immensely magical being, but Maker knows she was still unable to recall a single thing about him – it – him.

Sighing internally, she supposed it didn't really matter.

On many occasions the Inquisitor had requested the elf's company on one of her adventures. A kindred spirit was he, a virtuous and righteous man whom she respected dearly. Besides, there was only one real concern on the young woman's mind. That was whether or not her elven companion had noticed the many times she had sneakily stole the opportunity to shamelessly oggle his masculine form.

Intelligent and witty conversation aside, the raw masculinity and power the man exuded after a particularly strenuous battle was but an added bonus to his company. However, she imagined elven gods did not take too kindly to lecherous glances, and being smote by an ancient deity was not on her agenda for this evening.

“Sadly, I do not think I possess the beauty to be mistaken for Ghilan'nain.”

Trevelyan was so consumed in her own thoughts, she forgot to speak.

“Is it so hard to believe?” Half-heartedly Solas attempted a sly smile, barely concealed behind the rim of his teacup.

The woman, now breaking free of her own reverie, noticed the elf massaging his temples.

“Hard to believe? No, no, nonsense” she shook her head, smiling and swinging her arms in an exaggerated arc. “I've already met a couple, what's one more?” stretching her legs across the length of the couch, she lay her calves across his thighs. Boundaries of personal space be damned.

“Corypheus' failed in his attempt to enter the Fade and to venture into the Black City. He had yet to fully attain godhood – if such a thing could ever truly be achieved.” the bitter flavour of the tea settled on his tongue, like the regretful memory of his dealings with the corrupted Magister.

“I fear it may be necessary to seal them away once more. Had I known...” he hesitated. “It was not meant to be like this.”

Lapsing into silence, only the caw of Leliana's birds broke the bubble of uncomfortable muteness surrounding them.

So caught up in processing the implications of his confession, it had not occurred to Trevelyan that others may be privy to their conversation.

She had not noticed much of anything, really; glancing at him now with concerned eyes, she traced the angles of his elongated features. The fine lines beneath his eyes seemed heavier than ever before and weariness tugged at his brow, deep creases forming across his forehead.

She tried to lighten the mood with her usually – or so she was told, stellar wit. “I was thinking about crawling into bed and taking a good long bath actually – not in that order, of course.” Trevelyan stretched, a slither of her bare stomach peeking from her nightshirt and revealing itself to his gaze.

“I might just sleep through this whole end of the world thing, hopefully these elven gods will let me put on a towel to preserve my dignity before trying to stick me with a sword.” her light-hearted laugh echoed across the walls of the concave room, but it did not seem to reach his ears.

He was in the middle of raising his teacup to his lips, but he paused. An action which escaped the notice of his human companion.

Tired eyes flicked over her form.

The baser side of him wanted to savour the tiny glimpse of her uncovered skin, to indulge himself in debauched fantasies of her bared and writhing body. His own want sickened him. He had long held his selfish emotions captive, duty replacing desire.

Now both his brethren and his emotions were unleashed, the latter rising in his throat like the blackest of bile. He swallowed down the heat, quelled the thrumming of his heart with a hasty gulp of what little pride remained within him. Even the lukewarm tea tasted sweet in comparison.

“You almost sound as if you welcome the idea.” he sounded vaguely amused but the frown on his face betrayed his inner turmoil – or it would, had the Inquisitor not been preoccupied with drinking in his form.

Lowering the porcelain cup onto the saucer (Josephine would simply not allow those dastardly iron 'cups' around Skyhold any longer.) the clinking of china echoed around the room.

“Welcome the idea?” she snorted, there was only one elf she would grant that pleasure.“I'm about as welcoming to the idea as I imagine you are to a fireball to the face.”

“Am I to apologise once more?” a genuine question lay thinly-veiled beneath feigned amusement

“For leaving with my staff in your possession? Most certainly.” she peered at him lazily, nudging his firm stomach with the side of her foot.

Reaching out a hand to touch her leg, he faltered, resting it by his side once more. “I had assumed you were referring to waking the remaining elven pantheon. Regardless, I am sorry. Had I known you were so sentimental, I would have offered you a parting gift in exchange.”

“A gift from a trickster god? I'd rather take my chances with a gift from Sera.”

“Yes, I had heard of Sera's impeccable taste in head-wear and baked goods.”

The woman twisted her face. “Please, do not remind me of those raisin-filled nightmares. So second thought, any gift from you would be most welcome.”

Chuckling with genuine amusement, the sound of his voice drifted off into the air.

Melancholy overtook him once more, and he struggled to look at her. “Joking aside, am I to face no punishment? Whether my actions were justifiable is subject for debate. My deceit, however, is an unfortunate but undeniable truth.”

“How exactly would I punish a god?” shuffling into a seated position, Trevelyan crossed her legs. Squishing herself up against his side, she stared at him with mirthful curiosity.

“With orb destroyed, I am weakened. In this state I would be powerless to fight against a woman so skilled. Besides, I am here.” he stared into his discarded teacup, eyes sinking into the depths of the cooling liquid to drown out thoughts of her warm skin radiating against his side.

“If these twisted spirits – demons, are not stopped, then we are all doomed. I sought to renew the old ways, to restore the forgotten glory of my people, but for a second time I have brought only chaos. I am deserving of any punishment you see fit, Inquisitor.”

Only then did she realise how her disbelief could be mistaken for anger, or her sarcasm for resentment. He would surely think she would intend to punish him, cast him from the ranks of the Inquisition and never to return, but that was not the case.

“You did all you could for your people, it was admirable.” eyes glazed with sympathy, she reached out a gentle hand to cup his cheek.

Twisting his head to the side, he tore his face away with a wince. It was as if her very touch burned his flesh.

It did, but in a way that sent sparks of flame coursing through him. Realising his mistake, immediately clasped her hand, smoothing his palms over her skin to repent for his actions.

“Forgive me...” he whispered, laying their hands down upon her lap. A single finger trailed across the back of her hand, the only connection between them before he reluctantly broke away. “With all that has occurred, to be gifted with your touch is... unexpected.”

His hand jolted at her touch, unwilling to allow her fingers to lace with his. “Inquisitor?” he mumbled questioningly.

Trevelyan gave the elf's hand a firm squeeze. “Would you feel any better if I promised to deliver you judgement?”

“You are a merciful woman, and have shown yourself to possess great wisdom. I have failed my people, but worst of all I have endangered you – and the Inquisition.”

“Then I hereby punish you to one month of servitude – to Sera. I hear she has amassed quite the collection of, well...it's better you see for yourself. You will be the one cleaning her quarters, after all.”

“Here I had believed you to be a merciful woman, it appears I was mistaken.”

“There's always space in my court for a Jester, if that's preferable to Sera's company?”

“Was that a serious question? Over the ages, I have dressed in all manner of ill-fitting garment, but I have never encountered a being quite as...unique as Sera.”

Dragging his eyes along her face, he found himself pulled into the darkened abyss of her pupils. Her vivid irises grew small, the black of her pupils swelling until only the tiniest hint of colour separated black from white.

“Or one such as you, Inquisitor.” soft and melodic, his voice lulled her in like a siren's song. The gentleness of his words caressing her where his hands did not.

“Since we're getting all sentimental, may I hug you now?”

She had already been so bold this evening and so she sprung into the air like a frightful halla. Pouncing upon him, the woman ensnared his shoulders in a firm grip.

Solas tensed. His arms were outstretched behind her, but he refused to submit to the warmth of her touch.“You are full of surprises this evening, Inquisitor. I know you are well versed in courtly manners, but I had thought it customary among your kind to-”

“Shh.” she hissed. “My hugs are the thing of legends, Solas. With these, I will go down in history.”

Slowly, carefully and with much hesitation, he finally acquiesced to his own desires. The instant his uncertain palms lay on the small of her back, the elven apostate melted into her arms.

“It appears you were not exaggerating.” soft lips mumbled against her neck.

The gentle brush of his lips against her skin sent tingles coursing through her. Shuddering involuntarily she pressed herself closer, until they were all but melded into one.

The intimate gesture startled the elf, who broke the connection of his locked arms. “It is late, perhaps it would be wise to retire to bed.” he did not know how to react when Trevelyan did not move.

Indecision raced through the young mage's mind, coursing through her almost as quickly as the adrenaline in her veins. This evening had been unexpected surprise after unexpected surprise. So, Trevelyan had two choices; she could retire for the eve or, she could act on her impulses and risk the possibility of facing her end at the hands of a god.

Recounting her previous actions, she decided to take the plunge; one taste of those divine lips would be a welcome way to depart Thedas.

Plucking up the courage, she swiftly push him backwards, locking her lips over his own. The strong flavour of honeyed-tea and the delectable flavour of his mouth addled her senses.

It was such a little thing; a messy and haphazard press of skin against skin, but it sparked something within her. Lust with a force as powerful as her own magic threatened to overtake her, and she had little choice but to break the kiss.

The haze clouding her mind began to settle, but the cold reality of the unreciprocated gesture began to set in. With a wince she began to rise, but a lithe hand catching her wrist stopped her in her tracks. Dragging her forward and into his lap, the elven man crashed their lips together.

Gulping air back into his lungs, he rested a firm hand upon her shoulder. “I do not deserve you, and in the long run it would be unwise. You are a beautiful woman, Inquisitor, surely there is another?”

“I have only ever had eyes for you” she would not let him flee from her once again.

“This is wrong, we should not...” he protested between laboured breaths. Despite the contradiction of his words, he kissed her again.

“Solas, please, not now.” the firm finality of the order silenced him, but had it failed the strings of her nightshirt falling loose would surely hold his tongue.

She was radiant in the candlelight, beaming in the comforting orange glow. It would take great resolve to tear his eyes away from her, a resolve he no longer possessed.

He wanted nothing more than to trace her textured flesh with his fingertips, and so he did. Seeds of doubt planted themselves within his mind, but each graze of his fingertips against her skin plucked another mangled weed from the garden of his thoughts.

Thumbing the line of her jaw with both hands, he tilted her head backwards. Loose strands of silky hair tickled the nape of her neck, while delicate kisses he dropped along her throat.

With a finger he brushed between the swell of her breasts, his own pupils shaking in apprehension before dropping low to savour the sight of her uncovered skin.

“You are radiant, ma vhen'an.” the title flowed from his tongue. Lazily snaking his hands around her waist, he drew circles on her back with the pads of his fingers. “When I am in the Fade, resisting the simple temptations of demons is an easy task, but you...are so much more complicated.” he inhaled her scent.

This time she deliberately bucked her hips, the friction between them causing both to tremble in unison.

“Another talent to add to my repertoire.” she gasped, the last fully-conscious thought she would utter until morning's light.

Hunting the sensitive skin of her breasts, he attacked the supple flesh with a keen tongue. Humbling the young woman with the skilful swirl of the moist appendage.

Determined to wash away all trace of the figurative poison within his veins, Trevelyan braced her hands against his smooth head, bringing him up to face her.

Curved lips peppered gentle kisses upon every exposed expanse of his skin. She lavished even his closed eyelids with pecks. Into each kiss she poured the promise of forgiveness, should any doubt cross his mind.

Trevelyan held the side of his face, her temple pressed against his forehead. Each blink of her fluttering eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses upon his brow.

Glancing into her glazed eyes, the expressions Solas saw therein shook him to the core. Slipping a hand over the back of hers, he entwined their fingers together, and with a kiss to her palm, gently lowered her onto her back.

Stripped of all clothing they wondered in the shape of one another's bodies. Each freckle or scar like a new area of the map, waiting to be discovered.

Between the parted legs he lay between, the elven man could glimpse the moisture which dripped from her folds. Dampened curls and slick thighs glimmering in tempting invitation. The evidence of his own desire seeping from the blushing tip of his throbbing length.

Heat coiled in Trevelyan's stomach like the fingers curled in the searing heat of her womanhood, but it was not enough for either of them.

Finding salvation in the heavenly clasp of her thighs wrapped around his waist, perspiration trickled from his brow with each thrust.

Passionate cries blended into one, echoing in the still air. Had she been present, Leliana would undoubtedly have heard their impassioned gasps, the debauched slap of skin on skin. The sound of their brazen coupling a stark contrast to the sanctity of her shrine.

Even Solas did not spare a thought to the possibility of being caught in such a compromising position. They would undoubtedly be teased mercilessly by Dorian and Leliana for weeks. They would be the talk of Skyhold, but it was of little concern in that moment.

Sated and finally at peace, the elf revelled in the nuzzle of the young woman's head against his slender chest. The Inquisitor, already half-asleep, mumbled something along the lines of “Sleep...fight crazy gods tomorrow.” before drifting off into slumber.

In the morning the Inquisitor would have plenty of time to worry about her tryst with a god, and in the morning they would find a way to save the world once more. For now, Solas would lay awake, the peace he had previously felt shattered by the haunting uncertainty of whether or not the Inquisitor would genuinely have him serve Sera for a month.


End file.
